


It Doesn't Help

by raja815



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Break Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raja815/pseuds/raja815
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kirk makes himself smile.  Since Spock's message came he's felt disjointed, lost in some unpleasant dream.  Smiling is all he can do to hide it."</p><p>Immediately post five-year mission, prelude to the "lost years" before The Motion Picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Doesn't Help

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for alcohol as a coping mechanism.
> 
> Part of a challenge with [colonel_bastard](http://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard): prompt "cocktail recipes" with a 1000 word limit. Her fic, "Not Anymore Lonesome," is [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1152644)

Drinks with dinner. The admirals favor martinis, good English gin and dry vermouth, so that's what Kirk drinks too. On the Enterprise, where you could be called to action at any time, drinks with dinner had been a rare privilege. 

The admirals have them every day.

"Nice to relax, isn't it, Jim?” Admiral Peters laughs, clapping Kirk's shoulder.

“A little.” Kirk makes himself smile. Since Spock's message came he's felt disjointed, lost in some unpleasant dream. Smiling is all he can do to hide it.

“You've earned it, after those five years,” Peters says. “Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. They're going to contact you officially in a few days, but I wanted to tell you off-record…”

Over the course of the conversation, Kirk drinks two more martinis and promises to consider accepting the promotion. When he gets home, unsteady on his feet, Spock's message is still there, frozen on the computer screen. He tries escaping into bed, but when he wakes the next morning, it is still there. 

Still real.

...

Beer in the afternoon, bitter, well-hopped. Kirk can't even remember the last time he drank a beer, and now he's on his third. He doesn't even like the taste. 

"Too much carbs in that stuff, Jim," McCoy says, half-smiling. "It'll go straight to your belly."

Kirk only shrugs. "Admiral Nguen brought it over, the day he issued the promotion papers. Someone ought to drink it."

McCoy scoffs. "Next time tell him you don't need his papers or his beer.”

Kirk doesn't answer.

"Damn fool nonsense anyway. Everyone knows you belong in the center seat, not riding a desk."

"Maybe, maybe not," Kirk says. He can feel McCoy looking at him, but can't make himself look back.

"You... you aren't thinking of taking it?" McCoy sounds startled, and, when Kirk still doesn't answer, frantic. "Jim, you can't do that. You'll be miserable."

"I don't want to talk about it.”

McCoy grabs Kirk's shoulder, spilling his beer. "Don't be a goddamn kid about this. Just because Spock—"

"I said I didn't want to talk about it."

McCoy tries for another half hour. Kirk won't talk, won't even argue, and when McCoy leaves he is thoroughly exasperated, confused, and hurt. Kirk pours the beer down the sink, splashes enough vermouth over a glass of whiskey to at least nominally make it a Manhattan, and goes to the computer. 

But try as he might, he can't make himself delete the message.

...

Singapore sling, gin and juices, cherry brandy, grenadine, bitters. Areel's favorite cocktail, but she doesn't look likes she's enjoying hers. She's been watching Kirk all through dinner, expression moving from pleasure to confusion to concern as he orders one after the other after the other. About the time the sweet drinks start to taste cloying, she's worried stiff.

"You aren't yourself, Jim," she says gently, reaching over and placing her hand on his wrist.

"I know," he murmurs. _Spock used to do the same,_ he remembers, looking down at her small hand. _Hand on the wrist. When he was worried about me. He never did it to anyone else._

"It's all over the fleet that they want you for Admiral; is that it?" Leading questions. She’s attorney to the core. He almost smiles.

"I don't want to talk shop," he says.

"Or... I've got this idea it might be about your friend. The Vulcan who spoke at your trial. They say he—"

“No.” Best attorney in the fleet, all right. A few words from her and he’s all but convicted himself. ”Areel. Please. Don't."

Later he kisses her goodnight but goes back to his apartment alone. The Singapore slings aren't sitting well. His head is spinning, he can't lie down. He draws a bath, doesn't get in, turns on a movie, doesn't watch it. Before he can stop himself, he’s at his computer, with Spock's message open.

“Captain.”

Kirk winces.

“Attached is a copy of my resignation, which you will have already seen through normal Starfleet channels." Spock pauses, and when he speaks again he seems both far more open and far less stable. The Vulcan mask, as much as Spock can let it, has fallen away. 

“I realize you may feel some sense of... betrayal... by my actions—"

Kirk shuts the computer off, shaking, sick, unsure if he's going to vomit or weep. Eventually the first wins out and he hurries away to retch over the sink: a sour, stinging wash that tastes of rotten fruit. 

...

He accepts the promotion, comes home, and makes a whiskey sour. He's never been much of a drinker, but this week it's all he's been able to think of to do. When the first is gone, he makes another, and after that he pours straight whiskey over the melting ice in the glass and opens Spock's message again.

"I realize you may feel some sense of... betrayal... by my actions, and for this I… For this I am deeply regretful. I do not wish to hurt you. With you, I have found a measure of acceptance I cannot properly communicate. However, as my… regard for you has increased, my emotional struggles have become such that I... such that I… Oh, Jim, there is such _shame_ —" 

He trembles. Presses his fingers to his lips, closes his eyes. Stabilizes. When his eyes open they look broken. Lost.

“Forgive me. There were many things I wished to relate to you in this message, and now I find I can say none. Jim. _Jim._ I am sorry. I am sorry."

Kirk is sure Spock will say more. As he was when he first watched it, that first devastating day, he is sure Spock _must_ say more. But there is nothing. Only the slow, agonizing return of the Vulcan mask.

"Live long and prosper, Captain."

The feed cuts out.

Kirk sits in silence, watching the blank screen. Eventually he pushes his glass away. He doesn't even know why he's been drinking. 

It doesn't help.


End file.
